The one who wore a pink polo shirt for days on end when he found out. The first person to hold me; the one who called me a "little pink frog". The one who danced with me in the family room. The one who taught me how to shoot paper plate targets in the backyard. The one whose hand was big enough to completely engulf mine and so he offered an index finger instead when it came time to hold hands crossing the street. The one who flew halfway around the world once, twice, three times! to be with me in London. The man who taught me how to love God, to put Him first and watch the grace unfold in my life. The one who has listened to countless joys and every tear. The man who made sure I knew every day of my life that I am loved beyond all reason and beyond all measure. The man who has sacrificed so much of what he has on this earth to make sure his child never goes without. The father in this life who will do, and has done, everything in his power to make sure his child gets to heaven.
Not enough children know this kind of blessing.
This man has spent the last twenty-six years making sure not a day goes by without telling me how grateful he is that God knew better - Scott Farmer was meant to be a father.
I'm glad God always knows best.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy.
Love you far and above what words can say.